


Chance Encounter

by Gaby



Category: Supernatural, White Collar
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:19:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaby/pseuds/Gaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two partners in crime run into two other partners in crime. Faberge eggs, Mayan relics, classic rock and a ficus - some days Neal wonders if it's really worth getting out of bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theatregirl7299](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatregirl7299/gifts).



> Written as a filler for theatregirl7299's fandom stocking!  
> This fic takes place pre-series for White Collar and in early seasons of Supernatural.

Neal was concentrating on opening the safe when he heard a loudly rumbling car engine approach. He looked up at Mozzie with a raised eyebrow. "I thought the Wickershams are on vacation," he whispered urgently.

"They are," Mozzie whispered back, looking around the den shiftily. He flapped his hands at Neal. "Concentrate at the job at hand, mon frère."

Neal snorted. He was a front man, someone to charm people out of their valuables. Mozzie was the man behind the curtain, the technical virtuoso. Why he was working on the safe and not his friend was still a mystery to him.

The engine stopped rumbling. The entire neighborhood was once again silent.

"See? False alarm. Probably just one of the neighbors' rich sons showing off his latest Christmas present." Mozzie sneered at the mere thought. "Hurry up though. Let's not tempt fate."

"Easy for you to say," Neal muttered. "I'm not good at breaking into safes."

"Hence my lesson," Mozzie replied magnanimously. He waved at the safe. "You might be a lock pick virtuoso, Neal, but we need to round off your skills, young padawan."

Neal scowled at that but obediently went back to working on the safe. They would get their hands on the damn Faberge eggs one way or the other. 

After a couple of minutes in complete silence, Neal was finally sure he would get the safe open -- and then jerked in shock when from somewhere in the house, a strange voice said exasperatedly, "Dude, seriously?!"

Neal stared in panic at Mozzie, who immediately snuck to the door they had left ajar and peeked out. He shrugged to indicate that he couldn't see anything.

"Yes, seriously, dude," a second strange voice piped up. "Just gimme a minute."

"We're not here to steal some stupid albums, Dean. We're here to grab a Mayan relic, remember?"

"But look at this collection! Just look at it, Sammy!"

"It's Sam."

"Bitch."

"Jerk. Move your ass, Dean. Vinyl isn't going to help us fight the damn demon."

"Well, you go find that relic. I go find some awesome records."

Neal listened, completely fascinated, the safe forgotten. He shared another look with Mozzie, who seemed more than a little confused by this turn of events.

What sounded like a scuffle drifted up from downstairs, hissed words were exchanged, and then two pairs of steps came stomping up the stairs.

Mozzie turned around with wide eyes full of panic and gestured wildly at Neal. 

Neal just spread his hands helplessly. They were stuck in the Wickersham's den. There was no way to escape, except by jumping out of the window. And Neal was definitely _not_ going to take a header into the front yard from two stories up.

Mozzie looked around frantically and then hid behind a large ficus in the corner.

Neal, quick-witted as always, raced to sit down behind the impressive mahogany desk, took off his gloves and opened the laptop. He didn't have time to turn it on, but the laptop was facing away from the door, so he looked like someone who was busy working.

A second later, the door was pushed open and two young men stood there, staring stupidly at Neal. The one wearing a leather jacket blinked in confusion and then muttered, "Awkward."

The other man, younger and taller than the first, gave his companion a disbelieving look.

Neal glared at the intruders and raised his chin. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded imperiously.

The leather jacket wearing man leaned closer to his companion and whispered, "You said the Wickershams wouldn't be home."

"They're not," the taller man replied, narrowing his eyes at Neal. "Who the hell are _you_?"

Neal stood up and crossed his arms. "I'm William Wickersham, Junior, and you are in my father's house." He reached for the phone on the desk. "And I'm going to call the cops."

Before Neal could even grab the receiver, there was suddenly a gun in the taller man's hand, and it was pointed squarely at Neal's chest. "No, you're not," he said calmly. "Because there is no William Wickersham, Junior." He cocked his gun. "So, I ask again, who the hell are you?"

"Good call, Sam," the other intruder said, sounding equal parts impressed and proud. 

A second later, he yelped in pain when he got hit over the head with a ficus.

The gun in the tall man's--Sam's--hand was immediately pointed at Mozzie.

"Moz!" Neal exclaimed, shocked and worried.

"I panicked!" Mozzie shrieked back.

Sam's eyes quickly cut to his companion. "You okay, Dean?"

Dean groaned and rubbed the back of his head. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, straightening up again. He glared at Mozzie. "You are so dead, man. Deader than dead."

"Let's compromise," Mozzie said, holding up his hands. "You guys leave and we will not send the cops after you."

Dean snorted. "Is this guy for real?" he asked Sam.

Sam was distracted by something else though. He stared at the safe in the corner and Mozzie's equipment in front of it. He grinned. "Guess we interrupted you at work?" he asked sarcastically.

Neal and Mozzie shared an unsure look. They had no clue how to react, and that was pretty much a first for Neal, who usually knew how to talk his way out of any predicament.

"Tell you what," Sam said after a long moment. "You guys continue whatever you were doing and let us do what we came here to do. I doubt you were looking for any Mayan relics? Because that would kinda put a damper on things."

Neal and Mozzie shared another look. Mozzie's eyes narrowed shiftily. "Depends. What are Mayan relics worth?"

A second later, he had a gun pointed at him -- this time by Dean. "A world full of hurt," he offered with a growl.

"Dean."

"He full-on ficus-ed me!"

Sam rolled his eyes, then looked at Neal again. "We have a deal?"

After another shared look with Mozzie, Neal nodded. "We have a deal."

Sam flashed a bright smile, showing dimples. "Perfect. Well, carry on then. Come on, Dean."

Dean sent another narrow-eyed glare at Mozzie before he turned around and followed Sam out of the room.

"Well," Neal finally said. "That was different."

Mozzie's eyes gleamed with barely disguised glee. "The best part is that we can blame the break-in on these idiots. Did you see? They weren't even wearing gloves!"

Neal, who was busily wiping down the laptop to get rid of any fingerprints, nodded. "Still, Moz. Honor among thieves and all that."

"Bah humbug." Mozzie bustled over to the safe again. "They were nothing but thugs. We don't socialize with cretins, Neal."

Neal gave Mozzie a slightly disappointed look but didn't comment. He focused on the safe instead.

A few minutes later, they heard a triumphant, "Got it!" from somewhere downstairs.

"Looks like the cretins are more successful than us," Neal muttered sarcastically, still fiddling with the safe.

Mozzie sighed deeply and finally took pity on Neal. "Here, let me show you how experts open these things."

"Good luck, you two!" Sam yelled encouragingly from downstairs. Before Neal or Mozzie could respond, they heard him add in an exasperated tone, "Leave the damn albums alone, Dean."

"First edition Led Zeppelin, dude! That one's totally mine!"

Despite himself, Neal chuckled. At Mozzie's withering glare, he focused on the safe again and closely watched Mozzie work.

The exact moment when Mozzie managed to open the safe, a car engine sprang to life outside with a deep rumble.

"Perfect timing," Mozzie muttered, staring happily at the Faberge eggs in front of him. "Let's grab these beauties and leave. With our luck, these two yahoos triggered the silent alarm."

Neal barely managed to tear his eyes away from the shiny black Impala that was shooting down the road, but he dutifully turned away from the window and gathered their equipment. Mozzie was right. It was high time they left the scene of the crime. No matter how impressive Sam and Dean's taste in classic cars and music might be, it wasn't worth getting caught by the police.

While they stashed their loot in the back of their own car, Neal asked curiously, "Hey, Moz? What do you think Mayan relics are worth anyway?"

THE END


End file.
